Walking Backwards, Ch1
by Green Thirteen
Summary: - Based on Mage: The Awakening; a mature tale. - Ember, a young Mastigos, finds herself traveling back through her memories as a newly awakened willworker - specifically, the memories of her mentor and master, Legion, and the tasks he gave her.
1. Chapter 1

The consilium had absolutely nothing to do with me. They were judges - kept the peace, settled disputes between cabals, and generally went about being old and crotchety and bossing everyone around all the time. Legion said we had to respect them, but there was always a little metallic clink of bitterness behind his tongue when he did.

Still, they seemed necessary, even if they had no direct effect on my life. Mages tended to fight a lot, like highschool girls - imagine their tomes like dirty messages written on the bathroom walls, and the duel arcanes like cat fights, and you've got a virtually identical image, almost parallel to the real thing, only the teens would be more entertaining.

Sitting on the cold metal folding chair, I shifted my weight and sighed - long and hard, an exaggerated kind of not wanting to be there sigh - staring around at the crowd, I could see them all pretending to pay attention. Few actually were. I was supposed to be, a fact that was quickly brought to the front and foremost of my thoughts as a warm presence slid up my back.

Legion's hand. I focused in on the matter the consilii were discussing as fast as I could, but not fast enough. My lack of attentiveness earned me a pinch on the shoulder - short and stinging, just a warning. I sat up straighter and watched the consilii talk.

The man that sat slightly to the right of me was my mentor - a word that I hated, it sounded so serious and stoney and old, which he wasn't - a very physical kind of person, who believed that punishment was the best way to teach.

It got me to remember his lessons, anyway.

Legion was a Mastigos. We both were. He knew all kinds of maddeningly amazing secrets, and he was fond of making me bust my ass (sometimes literally) to learn them. What he'd already taught me seemed like a lifetime of work and pursuit of arcana to me, but he assured me - more often than necessary - that all of it was really just a twitch of the finger in the whole grand gesture of magic.

Another pinch, this one delivered with multiple fingers - and nails - digging into my shoulder, making me tilt my head slightly and want to whimper. He knew when my mind wasn't paying attention, too.

I tried to zero in on what was going on. The hairs on the back of my neck were constantly standing on end, and I couldn't stop shuddering a tiny bit every few minutes - spells were flying everywhere, scrutinizing others and targeting shadows and peering into _everything _with eyes more paranoid than curious.

There was a conflict going on. One guy stood alone to the right of a bunch of people, and he was gesturing at them in a slow, methodical way - but real rigid like, you could tell he was pissed off. They were all just as stiff, but in a kind of laughing, superior way - a common pose around here, as if to say, ha, can you even _hear _yourself? Are you talking about _us_?

One of the consilii sighed and rubbed his forehead. I drummed my fingers on my thigh, then swirled them in a little spiraling circle, then drummed them again. Immediately the room became a swirling burst of color, one I had to clench my eyes shut to avoid. When I squinted out again, sparkles danced across my vision. Everything was a muddled, flickering motley of dark blue, light blue, violet - black and dark green stained some areas, and the man standing at the front was a swirling oval of bright red, brown, and black. Glancing over at my mentor, I saw him as a burst of light blue tinged with trace amounts of light green on a background of silver and gray.

Why so sad, Legion? I had to smile, pleased at divulging something he hid from me, having a secret of his - even so small! - all to myself, then frowned right after, glancing away.

The small crowd of people - a cabal? Representatives of an order? - up front were a burst of red and black, too. Of course, the concilii would know. They were just as mad, and not so great at keeping up appearances.

Little areas were different spectrums, some warm, some cold, some so muddled and confused it was hard to tell what colors were involved - I tried, though. It was important to be perceptive. My vision swam. Legion's fingers pressed into my skin - not pinching, just pressing. Whether warning or reward, I couldn't tell.

The room gave me a headache. I blinked and shook my head a couple times, disabling the aura sight, and settled back in my seat to watch.

--

On the ride home, I was reprimanded, as usual, for my lack of attentiveness. "You've got to be aware of everything, all at once." Legion's hands were slack on the steering wheel, and I twisted around in my seat, sideways, to watch him. There was something hypnotizing about him when he spoke - especially when he was telling me off - and I adored looking at him. Instead of watching the road, he was staring into the rearview mirror. "You used your aura perception, that was good - what did you notice?" What sounded like praise was most likely going to get turned around, depending on how well I answered.

"A lot of people weren't paying attention," I replied lamely. Of course, I knew better - but I also knew he'd chide me into answering, so I let him.

"Why not?"

"They were paying attention to each other. Like...making sure no one was paying attention to them. Or wanting them to."

"And?"

"They were all paranoid. Some of them were upset - the people up front were."

"What did you make of the black marks, up there? Liches?"

I giggled. The corner of his mouth twitched. I might fail the test, but that one was too easy.

"No, they were just...mad. Full of hate."

He nodded slowly, and spoke about the same speed, each word articulated and firm. "Next time, pay attention to what they're saying, too. I don't take you along to show you off, it's a _learning _experience." His eyes flitted over to mine. "You won't be any use until you're more perceptive."

Use. I shifted back into place and was silent the rest of the way home, peering out the window but not really looking at anything.

--

Being a Mastigos meant being distrusted. We, as warlocks, walked a path with demons, stepping over and on whoever went and fell before us - not bothering to stop and help them up. A Mastigos is left alone with her own demons, to figure them out and conquer them with her own power.

It sounds lonely, or cruel, maybe, but it's nothing compared to some of the other shit we - and other mages, any mages, are capable of.

I remember some of my early lessons and cringe. Magic's not as pretty and flashy as it looks, sometimes. It's ugly, and there's a reason we keep it a secret - not just out of vanity or necessity or fear - but because it empowers and weakens us, it makes us proud and ashamed. The embrace of the arcana is something wonderful and terrifying; mostly the latter.

--

"Sometimes, when you're in a fix, and alone, you're going to _really _need mana." We were outside, taking a walk through the woods. Trees reached spindly, dead and dry arms up towards the white winter sky, lining either side of the dirt and gravel road that stretched ahead into the brush. "Maybe someone's chasing you, or you need to make an attack - you need protection, you need agression, you need healing, you need _something_ and you don't have the power to back it up." Then he stopped, so I did too.

I'll never forget how serious Legion looked then. He normally tries to, but this time he meant it. I came to associate this look, this stiff, rigid countenance with horrifying things.

He knelt down, a couple of steps away from me. Murmuring something, he held his hand out, and waited.

It wasn't long before a pudgy little woodland critter scurried out and placed both tiny paws on his palm, peering up at him. I wanted to smile, but something in my gut coiled and told me to wait, to look away.

"Sometimes, magic comes with a price other than the sanctity of your mind." His voice was barely above a whisper, and harsh. The animal stared up at him. Slowly, he brought his other hand around, closing it around the back of the animal's head.

"Don't look away. This could save your life."

The crunching sound was unbearable. The whole way home, he kept wiping his hands on his scarf. We didn't talk about that lesson for a few days.

--

Whatever he taught me, we did eventually go over it - even the act of sacrificing life for mana - in the front room, in front of the fireplace. There was something scholarly about it, especially during cold weather, when we could sit across the room in armchairs in front of a roaring fire, bundled up and going over the intricacies of the day's findings until the night dwindled into morning - and even during the summer, when the fireplace was grated up and we lounged around in full view of the picture window, curtains drawn shut tightly.

--

"First things first." This, back when I was shuddering and shaking all the time, eyes wide, looking for things I didn't yet know. "You can't ever tell anyone your name, never again." He kept taking me by the shoulders and making me stare at him, cupping my chin in a firm grip.

"I have to be the last person to ever know that. The most dangerous thing you can do is go around telling people that - does anyone else know?"

Slowly, my face still in the hold of his fingers - burning hot against my freezing skin - I shook my head.

"Good. Good." Then, releasing me, he curled up on the other end of the couch, looking me over through half-open eyes. For a long time, neither of us said anything. The fireplace cracked and popped.

I tried to talk, honest to God I did. But words didn't come out. I opened my mouth, and a string of what might have been syllables or gibberish poured out instead.

"Stop that. Don't do that, right now." Quicker than anything, he was up again, and clutching my chin, arm around my shoulders to draw me closer to him. "You'll be fine in a couple days." His eyes trailed away from mine, downwards. "We just have to wait this part out," he murmured. My lips quivered, my flesh crawled like it wanted to get away from me.

I bowed my head, pressing it against his chest and giving a couple dry sobs. Everything I knew had been ripped apart, and I felt like it was my responsibility to put it all back together - only now, the pieces were supposed to go in different spots.

"No, no, no, don't do that." He didn't push me away, but clamped his hands around me where they were, digging his finger tips into my skin. "Don't. Do _not_."

I didn't cry. We sat there, arms twined around each other, curled up the whole night. I stared at the fire the entire time, and every few hours he'd murmur something I couldn't understand, his fingers twitching and drumming against my body.

--

"_My_ name is Legion." A few nights later, we sat on the same couch, me leaning against one of the arms with a blanket swathed around me, watching him. He was striking to look at - his body was long, especially his torso, and he coiled up when he sat, all angles and bends. His face was long, too, his nose curved and almost hooked, eyes dark and never widened - gray lines faded into pale skin under each, showing both his restlessness at night and his age. He didn't bother to hide a slightly receding hairline, but slicked his hair back and let it fall around his neck in natural, dark strands.

I managed a small smile. My hands still shook, and sometimes my body would convulse, flinging me to the floor, when I tried to walk too quickly, but I was getting better.

"You are Legion," I said, my voice timid and quiet, like a nervous pet lured out of its cage.

"Yes, exactly." He smiled back, but it was joyless. "I am Legion." I wondered if we quoted the same reference, or if it was wrong for us to make biblical illusions as warlocks. "I am Legion," he repeated, standing and striding to stand in front of the fire, his back to me, arms folded. The flames cast him as a sillouhette, and I held my breath with apprehension at how his form was cast before me and across me simultaneously, his shadow covering my huddled form. "Who are _you_?"

I tilted my head, still studying him. The past few days had mostly been spent coaxing me back into talking and quelling my nervous shaking fits; I hadn't had any time to think of what I wanted to be called, now. He had calmly explained to me in a way that I almost understood why my former name - my _true_ name - was out of the question - I needed a new one. Of course, his birth name wasn't Legion, that was just a word that stood proxy it.

I hadn't dared to ask his name. That would come much later, when I was feeling much more confident, and less like a mouse that was caught in the seductive gaze of a cat.

My eyes drifted. In the darkness, the fire illuminated him, and cast me into darkness. Ashes floated up into the chimney, scarring the brick black.

I held out my hand, which was surprisingly steady. Some rogue draft of air sent a tiny bit of the flame my way, little orange specks landing on my palm and stinging, lighting my hand for a brief moment before fading.

"Ember," I murmured.

Legion twisted his head around and grinned, the act seeming to split his mouth from ear to ear.

--

"Ember," he said, not much louder than I first did, lips pressed against my ear. His hot breath felt moist and welcome and unbearable. I wanted to twist away, but didn't dare, his fingers curled around my bare shoulders.

"Ember. The spark of desire, the start of a flame." This time, he sunk his teeth in as punctuation, then gave a short, unnatural chuckle and spun me around, stepping back to look me over. "You're sure you're ready for all of this?" The question wasn't honest, but more of an obligatory kind of thing - it had been months since he'd taken me in and under his leathery wing, and I was finally going to fufill my use.

I turned in a slow circle, feeling the heat on my cheeks as he thumbed at his chin, eyeing me. "I'm ready. Of course I'm ready." I wanted to be ready, more than anything. Months. It had been months.

"And you're sure his tastes are quite this...risque?" Legion tilted his head back, eyes trailing from my ankles upwards. Wherever his vision paused, my skin trembled.

"Yeah. They are." I stopped turning, running my hands down the front leather corset slowly. "I'll need something to wear _over_ it -"

"Of course you will."

"- but he's into this kind of thing."

There was already so much he had done for me - this, he said, was payment as a student to a mentor. There were things he needed to teach me, things he still needed to explore, himself. Being a willworker meant endless work, it meant always toiling over musty tomes and learning new things and relearning old things that you _thought_ you knew.

"It wasn't until you came along," he mused, "that I was even seriously considering it." He took a few steps forward and pulled me close by my collar, playing with the little ring on the front of it, jerking my head up. "But believe me - we can pull this off." The words weren't meant to reassure me. Legion grasped my chin again and pushed my face to the side, running his tongue across his upper lip and studying my face.

"You're going to be irresistable to him. God, I wish I could be there to see it."

My face burned. I didn't, couldn't, look up for a moment - and when I did, his gaze enlightened me and dulled my senses, made my heart flare and my knees buckle - there was something hot and powerful in his eyes, something strong - something wonderful and terrifying; but mostly the latter.

"You know what to do? We've been over it - one more time?"

I cleared my throat, suffering from a bad case of cotton mouth. He had the answer for me anyways, as always - only now, he was too impatient to wait for me to make my way towards it. "You're going to seduce him - it shouldn't be hard, he's been staring at you every time the consilii call a meeting like a dog after a hare - and you're going to get everything you can." As he spoke, his grip on my face tightened, and he squeezed a little. "And you're going to be cautious and perceptive, aren't you?" Smiling, he nodded my head for me. I simply watched him, mortified and mystified all at once.

Ember. The fire of desire. I realized my hands were clasped around his wrist, shaking, the knuckles pale. My breath came out shallow through parted lips.

"Let's get you dressed - we've only got all night."


	2. Chapter 2

"Hold still." His voice was almost muffled by the pins he kept clenched between thin lips. "Actually, don't - you're much more attractive when you writhe." His tone wasn't entirely sarcastic.

Legion pulled my hair back, smoothing it against my scalp and jerking half of its length upwards, above my right ear. I wanted to jerk my head back and yelp, but instead I stayed as still as I could and bit my lower lip, rolling my eyes back as though I might be able to see him through the back of my head. With a steady, excruitiatingly slow hand, he coaxed the strands into ponytails on either side of my head, making sure that they were properly pinned and extra tight, extra high. It took a few tries before he was satisfied, and afterwards he reached one hand around to tilt my head back. I watched him watch me in the vanity mirror.

"Ribbons," he murmured. "What do you think about that?" I didn't bother answering, since his other hand had already picked up a couple of black ribbons and held them up beside my face.

"Black - " I started, but he cut me off. We had had the conversation before.

"Is your color. It's a _sexy_ color. It's a color related to _sex_." I frowned, which made him smirk. "Besides, he's a Moros. It fits."

"You said that about the Obrimos."

"Well, he had a black _soul_. It's different." Already, he had started braiding the ribbon into one of the ponytails. "Think they'll hold? Wait - here, I've got it." As usual, he had the answer before he really thought about the question. His thinking was full of backwards afterthoughts; it came with the regular use of the mind arcanum.

Already, sometimes I found it hard to remember whether or not I'd slept that night, or whether the daylight fading was just winter bringing on an early evening - then I'd remember it was almost spring. Only really, it was December.

He'd tied a tiny bow at the bottom of the braid. It seemed juvenile to me. "But it's not," he murmured, tugging at the braid and watching my head lean back in the opposite direction of my reflection's. "Well, it is. But that's better, for tonight."

"A Moros pedophile," I said, and he released the braid, starting on the other one. "I thought you wanted a grimoire from that albino Thyrsus lady? You didn't give me anything about this one." Usually, I was briefed at least, well, briefly.

"No. The grimoire can wait, she's out of town for the weekend." The second braid done, he stood and crossed the room, standing in front of my armoire with one hand curled under his chin and the other arm straight across his chest, pondering. "And he's not a pedophile - you're of legal age, aren't you? - he just has...younger tastes." Legion didn't often pause during speech. I figured, he's just being dramatic.

Then he rummaged through the wardrobe - one I wasn't allowed to peek into often, considering that the clothes were specifically for my 'work', as it were - and pulled out a plaid skirt.

"You know, I think we can go without the black, tonight. There's a matching tie for this, isn't there?"

--

Each client had different tastes, entirely unique - well, the ones that had taste, anyway. Some of them were purely vanilla, easy jobs. Show a little skin, wiggle around some, and they get all excited and worked up. Lick your lips, grab your tits, and they were knocked right on their asses.

Unfortunately, not many of them were like that. A fetish was a delicate thing - it could be passionate, or dirty - mostly dirty, really - romantic, obsessive, needy, desperate... The wants reflected the wanter. Some of them wanted to be tied up, to be hurt, humiliated - your basic domme-sub relationship, my heel digging into their back, my crop leaving little heart-shaped marks all across them. I walked in, then walked all over them, and they got off on that.

I had a lot of that. Within a month or so, I'd have enough expertise to open my own professional dominatrix business, if I wanted to. But money wasn't the main objective, and I didn't want it anyway.

--

"I brought you something." Hearing his voice, I jumped, snapping the tome I'd been pouring over shut and knocking over a stack of other books. Legion had a habit of standing in doorways for long amounts of time without making any noise. I wasn't sure if I was more frightened or intrigued by that.

He watched me stoop down to restack the books. "I know that sometimes the nights I send you out are a bit spaced out," he continued, and I settled back down in my bed, crossing my legs as he crossed the room towards me. "And I've noticed that that somewhat...inhibits your skills."

I wanted to seem offended, but there was no point in that. Instead, I tilted my head back to look up at him. He stared back down at me, but he wasn't looking at my face.

"You know how I feel about you...using your fingers." This time, the pause wasn't for dramatic effect. It was rare that Legion was verbally specific about any kind of sexual action, although it came up in conversation often enough these days. "I can't have you bruising yourself up and getting sore if I have to send you out in a couple nights." He set the brown paper bag he'd had in hand in my lap.

I reached in, and pulled out a plastic case - like the kind they sell action figures in, molded specially to fit the product - only inside was a long, thick vibrator, shaped exactly like a bright pink, gel-looking dick.

I pictured him going to buy it, and couldn't help but give a twitching smile.

"Stop that." He walked back across the room and sat in the vanity table's chair, slouching back and steepling his fingers.

That serious face. I looked up from the toy, crinkling the paper bag and rolling it across my knee, back and forth.

"I wasn't sure what kind to get. So, Ember, to make sure this will work correctly, you're going to test drive that one for me."

"And you want me to tell you whether or not it's...like, good?" I wanted to giggle, but the humor of the situation was detiriorating, fast.

"I'll know whether or not it's sufficient." Shifting around in the seat, he grabbed a cushion from the floor shoved it between his back and the back of the chair, getting comfortable.

"Alright. Well, uhm...thanks, Legion. That was thoughtful." And really, considering the situation, it was. I uncrinkled the bag and pushed the package back inside, re-opening the book.

He heaved a sigh and stood, shaking his head in a way that usually meant I'd misunderstood a point in his teaching, I'd messed up during a lesson, botched a spell, misread a rune. But this time, he walked slowly towards me and place his hand over mine, closing the book. The entire time, his eyes locked mine in place.

Legion's other hand removed the plastic case from the bag. Shoving the book aside, to the floor, where it landed splayed open, he began opening the case. It was one of those glued-together, impossible plastic coverings, but he ripped it open without any trouble.

Still staring me down, he rubbed the soft head of the vibrator against my cheek. Not once did he blink. The tip of the fake dick pressed against my lips, rubbing back and forth across them slowly. Then he dropped it into my lap and walked back to his seat, settling down again.

He made a circular motion with one hand, as if to usher me on.

Fingers quivering, I picked the thing up and leaned back onto some pillows. The whole time, although my eyes were closed, I could feel his gaze blazing into my skin.


	3. Chapter 3

"Moan."

My eyes popped open, and I stopped to look over at where Legion was sitting across the room - then realized he wasn't there, but leaning over me, practically face to face, hands clasped behind his back. The vibrator continued to buzz between my legs, although my hand was still now.

"What?"

He sighed, exasperated. "I didn't say _stop_. I said _moan_." I wondered how I hadn't noticed him being so close, hadn't felt his breath on my face. Reflex made me want to recoil, but I stayed splayed out on the bed, inches away from where he stood.

"I know you're not completely silent when I send you out." Then, leaning back up to his full height, he made a sort of disappointed face at me. "Are you?"

I cleared my throat. Breathing through my mouth made everything dry. "No. I mean, well... No." My voice was breathy and barely audible, and I could feel my pulse pump through every vein in my body as though they were all arteries swelling up with excess blood. A full-body blush. He gave a satisfied nod.

"Then _moan_. How do you expect me to know whether or not this one's right if you're not being genuine?" When I didn't answer, he didn't ask again, but twirled his hand, motioning me on. Still standing over me.

Over the past few weeks, he'd been bringing me different toys, never satisfied with what he found. I wasn't invited along to pick them out any more than I'd be invited to select my assignments, who I was supposed to seduce - he'd bring them back one or two at a time, different models, sizes, textures, attachments, and have me use them while supervised.

In fact, he'd made it clear that I wasn't allowed to pleasure myself _without_ his supervision. This was to ensure that I wouldn't overdo it - the whole point was to make sure that I was left unsore and primed for the next time I'd have to be sent out.

This one was a slender, bumpy, translucent blue phallic object that produced a low humming noise and a light, quick vibration. I ran it up and over my clit, and gave a soft, low groan.

Cracking one eye open, I saw that he was still standing there, arms crossed, watching me. I whined and turned my head aside, speeding up.

--

Having Legion watch me - well, it was hard to describe. Whether it detracted or heightened the process was hard to tell. I felt awkward and silly, hands groping and rubbing at myself while he observed silently, expressionless. At the same time, it made me feel dirty - it wasn't the same kind of watching that other guys did, getting themselves excited seeing a girl get off - but it still made my heart beat a little faster, my fingers rub and grab a little more quickly, more desperate.

It wasn't until I was done, stretched out, sweaty and gasping, my cum pooled between my thighs, that he would stand and walk over slowly - or in this case, lean down over me - to say whether or not he was pleased with the performance, whether or not the toy was 'sufficient.' And it was never right away, he'd sit and watch me as my body slackened and relaxed, my breathing slowed, and I entered the dreamy, groggy, satisfied state of post-orgasm. I was never too relaxed, though. Not with him so close by.

I didn't mind Legion. I didn't really have the express want to do it without him there. But him, sitting, standing over me, watching - it made me shudder, and not always in a pleasurable way.

--

The kitchen wasn't a place that Legion and I interacted in often. It wasn't an uncomfortable place to be - it was small, but clean, with one of those little islands in the center and a metal basin sink. The fridge and pantry were pretty well stocked, and it was my responsibility to do the dishes every night. Family dinners weren't really a thing between us, so when he approached me one night - late at night, I was already in my pajamas and scoping the fridge for a midnight snack - I figured it must be something important.

"I've got a new job for you." He leaned his palms on the counter and watched me as I bent over the crisper drawer, peering into it. "This one's going to be easy. It's Thursday night."

"That's tomorrow," I remarked, hoisting up a watermelon and pushing the drawer shut with my foot. "Or d'you mean next week?" The heavy fruit fell onto the chopping board with a loud thud.

"No, you're right. Tomorrow night." He circled around the island to stand behind me, leaning back on that counter and crossing his arms, as he often did while observing me. It was a guarded stance, one that was almost challenging - especially when I turned to meet his eyes, as I did when I went to grab a knife. That always shocked me, when our eyes met - his lids half-closed, pinpoint pupils barely discernable from gray irises, staring right through me, hard.

I hesitated, locking up, before shuffling to the left to get a butcher knife from the chopping block. "Usually you give me more time," I remarked casually, slipping back past him and holding the melon down to slide the blade through it.

The two halves of watermelon rolled apart, the shiny red innards turned upwards, slick looking in the light. Juice dripped onto the wooden board.

"He's an Acanthus." I could hear the distaste on Legion's tongue. "Free Council. Tomorrow's his birthday."

Making a low 'ooh'ing noise, I sliced one of the halves into quarters, then eighths. "So you're giving him a gift." As I carried one of the eighths to the table and sat down with it, my hands slick with water, he followed, sitting across from me, his chair somewhat away from the table.

"I'll be getting more back in return." I stopped with the melon halfway to my mouth and set it down, staring at it. "He has a tome I want, Ember, so I need for you to - "

"You'll be getting more back in return." Imitating him, I settled back in my chair and crossed one leg over the other, folding my arms across my stomach and clasping my hands together.

It wasn't often that I interrupted him - or cared when he made offhanded remarks, for that matter; I knew that I was inexpendable at this point, regardless of what he said. The information I'd gathered was invaluable, and he went to great lengths to ensure my performance was top notch.

Staring at him, I wondered how much he'd spent on vibrators, dildos, clit massagers, and lube.

Legion stared back. I could tell I'd caught him off guard when his voice turned softer, but more firm, as though he was coddling a tempermental child.

"He has a tome I want," he repeated, "and it's a very _rare_, very _important_ tome." This was the longest I'd ever matched his gaze without being cowed by it. "I doubt he even knows what it's worth, or what it contains." Then, with a twitch of his mouth and a sideways glance, he gave a slight cough before adding, "And please stop being so irate, I wasn't talking about _your_ value. I think you'll realize the difference between a magical artifact and one night with a fairy."

"It's more work than you think," I countered, but slid forward in my seat again to pick up the watermelon rind. Bemused, he gave a slow smirk. The juice from the fruit ran down my arms as I bit into it.

Giving a grunt and a stretch, he stood, looked me over for a moment, then arched his back and leaned down, fingers spreading out over the black tabletop. "I'm sure you can manage." For a moment, he hovered. I didn't look up, even when he reached forward slowly to swirl a fingertip in the water pooled around my elbows and smeared some across my cheek.

"Clean up when you're done." A few moments later, I lifted my head. He had already gone upstairs for the night.

--

It was eight o'clock at night, and my curtains were drawn shut. I sat on the bed with the covers bunched up around my knees, staring at my fingers.

Eight o'clock at night - the alarm clock on my night stand insisted it was - but hadn't it just been two in the afternoon?

A peek outside revealed a world of darkness and streetlights. But that was impossible. I could have sworn to fucking God, I was just in the library thumbing through an old book on the dangers of demesnes, and it was two eighteen. Then I turned a page, and my hand was empty, and I was sitting in bed, looking down at it. My fingers grasping just the comforter.

The dangers of demesnes. Soul stones. A fragment of yourself missing, detached and placed somewhere it didn't belong.

Two eighteen.

Now I was in my nightgown, when just a minute or two ago, I had been in jeans and a sweater in the library. Six hours vanished in the time that it took me to turn a page. A large chunk of the day just went missing, slipping through my fingers like paper. Or fabric. Or whatever I happened to be holding that decided to switch it up on me.

Shaking my head, I crossed my arms to hold myself from a chill I felt, and flopped down onto the edge of the bed, drawing my feet up off of the floor.

"Is something wrong?" His voice rarely made me jump anymore. I continued to shake my head. There was no genuine concern in his tone, but something cold and slithering. I looked up, and he wasn't there at all. The doorway was empty.

I looked back down at my hand again.

"Then you should get to bed. It's after three in the morning, and you've got work to do tomorrow."

The clock testified that what he said was true. I heard Legion's footsteps creep away down the hallway before I curled up in my bed, hiding my head beneath a couple pillows.

--

I never meant to betray Legion. I never even thought about it like that. Even now, thinking back, I think that the use of the word 'betray' was a little harsh - I wasn't trying to act out against him, or at least, I wasn't trying to get in his way or mess up everything he'd planned.

I was just so horny. All the time. The assignments were usually unsatisfying, and self-pleasure just wasn't the same. Sex was constantly on my mind. I couldn't concentrate on lessons, I couldn't perform my mudras correctly, and performing oblations gave me tainted mana. My life as a whore started interfering with my life as a mage, something that frustrated me beyond my self-control.

Well, what little self-control I had. That much was proved before much time had passed at all.

The heightened excitement of Legion watching me masturbate soon wore off, and it just became session after session of mediocre, self-given orgasms while he sat in the background. Clients were selfish and stereotypical, the experiences rarely sensual on any level.

I craved something more. So I went looking for it.

--

The library was a nice, quiet place to study or write or just stare at things and think, sort things out. Reading helped me clear my mind when I was confused or upset, something that seemed to be happening more and more. Books were solace, sanctity, sanity. I curled up in a leather armchair - he seemed to have a few sprinkled around the house, and I'd grown to adore them. The smell of leather was always a welcome thing - with a large book and started reading. Rain pattered against the window panes outside.

Then my mind started to drift. As much as I wanted to concentrate on the words before me, I couldn't. They just couldn't catch my attention. Puffing out a little sigh, I flipped through the book's pages in search of something eye-catching.

I realized after a moment that the reason I couldn't seem to get into reading was that I'd already read the book before. Every word was familiar, like something I'd spent hours studying.

Only I'd never read it. It was shoved on top of one of the shelves and covered with dust.

Just today, I'd brought it down out of boredom. The book, I was sure I'd never held it before - turning it over and closing it, I tried to recognize the title or cover, but I couldn't. I'd never seen it.

But the words... I'd read them before. Thumbing through, I knew the information inside - but there wasn't any reason that I should.

Feeling defeated and befuddled by something that usually comforted me, I stood on tiptoe to return the book to where I'd found it and didn't return to the library for at least a week or two.

--

Legion paced back and forth in front of me, hands folded behind his back. His walk was slow, each step deliberate, and he stared straight ahead. I sat on the bed, blankets pulled up and around my shoulders, hiding my nude form.

He took a slow, shuddering breath before turning and facing me. "If you _ever_," he started, then stopped, closing his eyes. Taking another breath.

There was a minute or two when he opened his eyes again and turned towards me, arms falling to his sides. The stare he gave me was dark - his brow casting a slight shadow over his eyes, the gray circles underneath exaggerated. He watched me, lifted his chin a little, and then walked forward to the edge of the bed.

"You don't have _any_ goddamn self-control, do you?" I flinched, scooting back, fast, but he reached out faster and grabbed my chin, jerking my head forward so quick I felt the room spin around me. "Do you?" Ignoring the whimpering pleas, nonsensical whines that spilled out of me, he ripped the covers away and pushed me back onto the bed.

"Legion, please, jesus christ, don't - " My pleas grew louder, and he rammed his hand over my mouth.

"This is all you care about, isn't it?" For the first time in a long time, I heard genuine anger in his voice - harsh and scratchy - his other hand groped at one of my tits, squeezing and rubbing - too rough - I whined, but he kept talking. "You just care about getting off, you don't give a _shit_ about what I send you out to do. You don't give a shit about what _I _need, do you?" With a gruff, almost whining, infuriated sound, he pushed me away, rolling me onto my side.

--

"It's his twenty-third birthday," his friend said, grinning and looking me over without shame, "and you know, I'm kind of glad that we're not throwing him a party." The guy had a wheedling, impatient voice, all of his words running together.

He was an Acanthus, too, but not the one I was after. The eyeliner wearing mage led me through the small apartment to the bedroom, throwing his arm out as he swung open the door like he was showcasing the small space.

"Pixie's not normally into this kind of thing, but he's been really down lately. I mean, like." The friend frowned, pulling back the covers. "I think he might be getting old. Or feel like it. Whatever." Only when he said it, the words became orfeelikeitwhatever.

The bed was twin-sized. So Pixie doesn't get company a lot, I thought, and frowned. Great. I slid between the sheets, nestling against the one pillow.

"He should be home from work around six - like, in the morning. I called and told him I was leaving his present in his bed, so, you know. He shouldn't like, freak out." This guy's voice was starting to annoy me. "I'd love to stay and keep you company, or whatever," he grinned, "but I've gotta go to work, too."

Thank God, I thought. At least I'll get a few hours to myself to try and forget about him so I can get in the mood.

His friend left without really saying goodbye. I cinched my collar tighter and turned over so I wouldn't lay on my pigtails, the fishnet rubbing against my thighs as I shifted back and forth.


	4. Chapter 4

"Legion."

My voice was a barely audible whimper. He didn't look up from what he was reading, but twitched a finger at me without lifting a hand. I took that as permission to enter.

I'd never been inside his room before. It was small - smaller than mine - with a canopy bed that had no curtain, just high, iron bars. Two bookshelves covered one wall, and there was an adjoining bathroom. Not much in the way of decoration but a rug and a couple nightstands with drawers.

Sitting against the headboard, he was wearing pajama pants and reading glasses, a magazine cradled in his lap.

My stockinged feet made no noise on the carpet. I stopped at the foot of the bed, reaching up to grasp one of the iron bars. With a low exhale, he marked the place he'd been reading with his finger and looked up.

Then immediately looked back down, pressing the heel of his palm against his forehead.

"Ember." His voice was grating on the edge of impatience. "Put some clothes on." My last assignment had been a week ago, and my next was a week from now.

I was wearing a choker necklace and a white sheet, the material swathed around me and clutched in place by my hand at my collar bone.

"We're not doing this," he said, setting the magazine beside him on bed and straightening up to stare at me, his eyes staying on mine. There was an edge behind his voice, and he spoke a little haltingly.

I stepped forward, around the bed to one side, dropping the sheet. It slid down my body to the floor, covering my feet.

"Stop it." He stood up on the bed, towering over me. I stepped over the pool of fabric and pushed myself onto the bed, on my knees. "Don't. Do _not_."

I huddled against his legs, biting my lower lip and rubbing against them. "Legion, come on," I whined. "I can't... I can't _do it_ by myself. Please?" He stared down at me, hands balled into fists. My tits pressed against his knee.

There was a pause, and he looked away, exhaling through his teeth.

"Lay down," he commanded, crouching and pushing me backwards. I grunted, hitting the bed hard, and springs creaked when he landed on his knees, glaring at me.

For a moment, he disappeared from my line of sight. I heard him rummaging around in one of the nightstand drawers. When he returned, he was holding the first toy he'd brought me - the long, thick vibrator with the bright pink head.

"Don't start all your damned wiggling," he murmured, flicking the switch on and rubbing it against one of my nipples. I gasped and arched my back, and he popped my thigh, hard. "This is only because I want you in good shape."

--

"Pixie." I giggled. What a ridiculous name. "Happy birthday, babe."

He had come into the room hesitantly, expecting a gift on the bed - but not a girl, obviously. I pushed the covers off and rose up to my knees, arching my back some and smiling at him. The guy was short, but cute; he stared at my tits as I leaned down to crawl forward to the end of the bed.

"Who, uh." After a moment of biting and licking his lower lip, he finally came forward, fingers twitching. I could tell he didn't know whether or not to touch me, just yet. "Wow." There was a big black bow tied over my tits.

The bow, the color, the fishnets, a thong. I tilted my head to the side and peeked up at him over my glasses, giggling again.

"I'm Ember." I went back to my knees, running my hands from his waist, up his chest, to his neck. "Your friend said you needed a good gift this year." Giggle.

"Yeah," he replied weakly, smiling while sinking his teeth into his lower lip. "Yeah, he was right." Pixie's eyes didn't stay on my face for long. "Can I, uh. Are you..." He trailed off. How do you ask someone if they're a birthday sex slave?

I knew what he meant, and leaned back onto the bed, spreading my legs, bent at the knee, and arching my back, arms up by my head - my best 'come hither' position. "You can do whatever you want." He placed a hand on my knee and grinned.

--

Of everyone he sent me out to see, I rarely saw many of them more than once. It was usually a one-time job - I'd go, get fucked, and get what he wanted. End of story.

Even so, there were some people I visited more than once. Whether it was because Legion wanted more than one thing, or because they refused to give it up the first time, it depended. Then there were some he'd send me to without seeming to get anything in return - but I rested assured that whatever reason he presented me to them, well... He had his reasons, anyways.

Even more rarely than being sent to the same person more than once, I was sent to a sleeper. Regular people didn't seem to keep magical artifacts lying around their houses, go figure. Luckily, the population of willworkers in the county was pretty numerous, so it was a few months before rumors started circulating. Even then, they were only rumors.

There are a few clients - assignments, missions, marks - that stick out in my mind still now. Not necessarily because I liked them, enjoyed their company (in bed or out of it), but because they were distinct from everyone else. They stood out.

It was different, each time. A hit or miss. Some of them were spot on hits, but a few were fucking awful misses.

--

"What kind of name is _Travesty_?" I gawked at Legion, the plate I was washing slipping out of my hand and landing in the sink, splashing soapy water up onto the counter. "Isn't that, like. A sign, or something?"

"He's a Moros." Rolling his head back, I could hear his neck crack. "They're dramatic. And anyway, this one's important, so you're going to need to be on your absolute best behavior." I sighed, picking up the dish again and starting to scrub. Being good meant no fun whatsoever. "He's an old friend of mine, so you're going to be good to him."

We were both quiet for a moment, me thinking about what Legion could want from an old friend, Legion finding out what I was thinking about. It was a natural process now - we'd talk, I'd think, and he'd pry. I finished washing the dishes and removed the yellow rubber gloves, picking up a tiny, fluffy white towel.

"I don't want anything from him, actually." He frowned when I made a snorting noise. "I mean it, this time. I'm just returning a favor for a friend."

"You owe him sex?" The way he stiffened made me smile. "How close were you two?"

"He was married when I knew him."

"Knew him? But you said you two are - "

"Hush. I'm sending you to him in a couple days, and you'll be staying for the weekend. He lives a ways out of town, so think of it like a vacation." Laying the last dish in its respective cabinet, I balked at the idea. He stopped me before I could voice the feeling. "Ember, he's not like the others, so don't go around pouting. I'm going to give you a lesson when you get back. Just be _good_, alright?"

The promise of more teaching made up for a few days away. "Okay, alright. I'll be good for him - you said he's different? How?"

Legion smiled. I shuddered.

"You'll meet him Friday night. That means no late nights for the rest of the week, I want you fresh." I started draining the sink, and he came up behind me, looking down. "Get to bed soon, alright? Here." When I turned, he had his face turned away, leaning down some - always the obedient student, I leaned up and kissed him on the cheek. "We'll see about getting some clothes together tomorrow."

The way he acted about the whole thing, so casual, should have put me at ease. I had trouble getting to bed; my stomach felt as though it was trying to find a way out of my body through my throat.


	5. Chapter 5

Motion sickness is caused when the eye and the inner ear send conflicting messages to the brain about how fast or in which direction you're going. That's why reading in the car - your brain and eyes focused on the stationary words while the liquid in your inner ear sloshes around with the vehicle - and spinning in quick circles - the dizziness tilting the liquid towards the ground while you stumble to stay up - make you queasy, nauseated.

She tells me all of this while giving the wheel a good, strong spin. The room tilts and blurs around me. But you should be fine, she says. You're only going in one direction, and not really tilting at all.

This Thyrsus, she has a full out dungeon in the sub-level of her house. Attached to the basement and a dark room (not like a room with all the lights out - one for, you know, developing photos and shit), there's a big gymnasium-like, high-ceilinged room full of big equipment - straps and chains for suspension, boxes for containment, different bars and boards and such that you can get strapped to - even a big tank of water with shackles, and a cross. Like one you can get _crucified_ on - only with manacles for your wrists and ankles instead of nails, thank god.

Then there's the wheel. It's a big, perfectly circular contraption with adjustable straps and cinches for the limbs and abdomen, all tightened like belt buckles to keep you in place. All along the outside are big, knobby wooden spokes that are curved so she can get an easy grip on them, every couple minutes yanking the wheel to a stop and giving it a strong push in the opposite direction.

But! she says, her voice slipping from my left to my right as she speaks, But, you can also get motion sickness from sensory overload. Too many colors, sounds, textures, too much movement all at once - that can turn your stomach, can make you physically ill.

Thus informing me, she runs a feather around my belly button, standing just inches from where I'm starting to slow down, my eyes clenched shut. As the wheel stops, my head diagnol from the floor, I take a few shuddery breaths before looking up at her.

Aurora Borealis is a full-figured, paper-pale Guardian with rosy cheeks and rosier eyes. Her voice is syrupy, sugary and sultry, hard to listen to as she exchanges the fluffy ostrich feather for a stiff, spiked leather crop. I wince, she gives a slow, crawling smirk.

This slothful, sleepy predatory nature reminds me of a polar bear. That, and she keeps it cold as hell in her house.

Reaching up, her stomach presses against my face, smothering me as she unclasps my ankles. With one hand, she holds my legs up so I don't bend over myself, upside down, as she undoes the belt, then the wrists. I slide to the floor quickly, my shoulder ramming into the cold concrete.

Up, she says, already crossing the room. I scramble to my feet to follow, my joints groaning from being rigid for so long.

--

_She comes in late - only by an hour or so - and I'm waiting in the kitchen anyway, leaning against the counter and facing the door, elbows squared so my arms cross my chest._

_"Jesus __**Christ**__," she moans, heading right for the fridge after slinging a little string-cinched backpack across the center island to me, "I haven't eaten in __**three**__**days**__." I let my satisfaction swallow my guilt as I pull the drawstring open, seeing that the bag yields all three books, everything I asked for, and an extra grimoire._

_"That bitch made me dry heave out my intestines," she murmurs, grabbing armfuls of food and nudging the door shut with one stockinged foot. I make a tsking noise, and she gives me a long, hard glare._

_"Ember," and with that comes a look long practiced, a down-the-nose, unblinking stare that doesn't require any touch or gesture because the control is so heavily implied that I can almost see a physical bolt of it cross from myself to her, and she straightens up, piling the fruit and jar of mayo on the counter. "What do you do when you first come in?"_

_The question is really what are you __**supposed**__ to do, but that sounds too bossy. I don't need to verbalize it. With a moody glance, her shoulders slumped, she trudges quickly past me, pulling off her stockings as she goes, headed for the laundry room. It's imperative that I instill good habits in her - most essentially, good __**listening**__ habits - and although it's understandable how she could slip, well. I just can't have that happening._

_My Ember. My dear little pet project. She's flourishing, but sometimes, her petals wilt. I have to prune._

_"You were gone for five days," I remark as she returns, now in flannel pajamas, fresh from the shower, "and she only starved you for three?"  
"I got table scraps the first two."_

_"Ah." As she's quartering apples, cutting them into sections and scooping them into a bowl, I creep around behind her to one side, brushing her hair away from her neck and letting it fall around the other shoulder, fingers trailing all along the way._

_Her skin flinches and shivers where I touch. I allow myself a small smile._

_"You did well, Ember." The knife makes a soft, dull noise against the counter as she moves on to slicing a peach. The pit laid out to the side is heart-shaped, little red pulps clinging to the crevices. "I understand that Aurora can be particularly difficult, and I'll wait a bit before asking the details."_

_Whether she wipes tears of exhaustion or gratitude from her eyes, or maybe sweat from her brow, I can't tell. I'll need to put more mirrors up - there aren't any in the kitchen yet, and standing behind her, I can't see her face._

_Although she wipes her hands meticulously on a towel as she chops, they're stained red, the fingertips a splattery scarlet. "And you're going to eat something besides __**fruit**__. I'm not going to have you thin out."_

_Her shoulders tense up, and she slices more quickly, the juices pooling around the seeds left behind. _

--

Travesty will always stand out in my mind as one of the most outstanding willworkers I have ever met, and also as the one Moros that I genuinely enjoyed spending time with. Hell, one of the few clients I enjoyed spending time with - I can still count them on one hand.

Legion's 'old friend' lived in a sprawling estate somewhere way the hell out of town surrounded by beautiful countryside. It was far enough out of the city that you couldn't _see_ the city, not even at night; everything was grass and sky and the towering, old manor that he haunted, alone. During the day, everything felt antiquated and old-timey, dusty and rustic. At night, the place took on an eerie, lonely, almost sad atmosphere. I adored going to stay with Travesty, but I was loathe to be left alone in his spooky fucking house.

The first night I stayed with him was especially bad. Maybe just because he was deep into the death arcana, maybe because it was the first time I'd stayed so far away from home for so long, maybe because I was just nervous and unsettled by how important Legion had made this client sound - I felt fluttery and almost sick the whole night, despite the fact that he made sure I was as comfortable as possible.

--

The second time I went to see Pixie, Legion made it clear that it was to be the last time.

"I can't wait any longer on that tome. I want it by tomorrow, and I don't care if you have to beat it out of him." For some reason, he was upset. I doubted it had anything to do with me - sure, he was upset with me often enough, but I hadn't done anything particularly bad lately - so I just shrugged, flinging my hair over my shoulder to finish brushing it. I could see him standing in the doorway through the vanity mirror.

"By tomorrow. You mean you're sending me out tonight?" I was already in my pajamas. With a frown, I set the hairbrush down and turned around to give him an innocent stare, my face tilted to the right.

"Tonight," he confirmed, body rigid, eyes dangerously wide. "I'm tired of being thwarted by idiots like him, and it's only a single damn book - why couldn't you get it the first time?"

I didn't answer. He didn't expect me to, but went on staring at me anyway.

"Get dressed. _Now_. I'm going to have a cab drop you off there."

--

Every once and awhile, in very spaced-out bouts, my body would stop co-operating, my motor skills jammed, just like when I first awakened.

My hands wouldn't listen, refusing to pick things up or grasp them properly, my fingers twitching sporadically in unnatural directions. Sometimes my legs would give out, or my arms would go limp - once or twice I was unable to speak, any coherent thought that attempted to make its way through my lips would jumble up into a nonsensical raping of syllables. These things never came coupled with each other, only one at a time, and usually passed within a few minutes.

And they rarely happened on the job, thankfully enough.

--

He spoke standing in front of a third-story window, swirling his glass of red wine around slowly, gazing out at the forest behind his sanctum, his voice slow and lilting - "Did you know," he would say, "that carpe diem poetry is the literary counterpart to an old Roman tradition?" There was something so romance-novel about him as a person, the way he stood, and carried himself, the way he said things, and what he said. "Romans would use human skulls as decoration at parties, a reminder of the fate none of us can escape."

Whether what he said was true or not, I really didn't care. Travesty was everything a Moros should be, in my mind, and nothing they shouldn't. He had morbid tastes without being distasteful, and a solitary air without being antisocial.

That, and he was incredibly hot, with a habit of walking around the huge, empty house in black suits. Refined is a good word to describe him, but I can think of a few more that aren't so proper.

"You've got to seize what you want now, before you're unable to." I uncurled myself from his bed and went to join him at the window, placing both hands on his arm. "I don't mean death - not entirely. Dying isn't all that can prevent you from having what you desire." For a long moment, he was quiet, and I curled my fingers around the rough fabric at his elbow, not wanting to disturb his silence.

Turning, he took my face in his hand - much the way Legion would, but at the same time, entirely different. His touch was soft, and his palm pressed against my cheek, fingertips stroking my ear. I leaned into the touch, my own hands folding over his, feeling slightly ashamed at the smile that blossomed. He smiled, too, but a small one, and sad.

There was always something a little sad about him. I wanted so badly to change that, but in the end, there wasn't anything I could do.

--

Gifts weren't entirely uncommon, after awhile. At first, I went out explicitly to get things for Legion, but as time went on, and as I saw more people more often, I began to get things for myself. I never went out with that express intent, but it did happen more than once or twice.

Mostly, they were clothes, as if I needed more outfits. Sometimes, they were flowers, or candy, something to sit on the dining room table until they wilted. Once, someone sent me home with a kitten - something that was immediately sent back, to my dismay. Books, makeup - the gifts ranged from stereotypical girly gifts to genuinely useful mage items to absurd, weird trinkets from those who wanted to be 'remembered.'

A thyrsus would send me home with potted flowers and houseplants, an obrimos gave me countless pieces of jewelry with crucifixes as centerpieces, and one pale-skinned client sent me home with a vial of his own blood - which Legion immediately threw out, and soon after refused to send me back to him - odder still were the clients who would give me an excess of magical paraphanalia, hoping that Legion might send me back. He kept the extras and smirked at their desires.

I still keep some presents, though most were lost or cast aside from disinterest. Some of them turned out to be valuable beyond monetary measurement, but most were just trash given in the heat of the moment.

--

I took quickly to having a love of poetry, though I had zero talent for writing it (and believe me, I tried.) A certain black-tie-wearing Moros was enthralled by lyrical writings, and was the first to send me home with something for myself and not Legion - books of ancient love poems ranging from anglo-saxon old english to victorian age sonnets. I was allowed to keep the gifts, although my mentor snorted whenever he saw me pouring over the yellowed pages, glassy eyed.

I even memorized some of them, to Travesty's delight - one of the few things that gave him a genuine, full smile was when he would habitually quote some obscure line of poetry and I would respond back in kind.

--

"Come live with me and be my Love," he started, his voice startling me into sitting upright from my near-asleep state with a jolt, "and we will all the pleasures prove That hills and valleys, dale and field, and all the craggy mountains yield."

I gave a great yawn and pulled a sheet around myself (for warmth alone, considering the lack of opacity of the thing), shivering in the cold morning air. With a few blinks to clear my blurry eyes, I swung my feet over the edge of the bed and hobbled over to where Travesty stood by the open window. He gestured outside, where the sun was rising over the woods and the dew was gleaming on the wild grass below.

"And if these pleasures may thee move," he mused, "come live with me and be my Love." After a couple minutes, my groggy mind grasped the meaning of the words - a love poem from a shepherd to a nymph - and I blushed at the comparison.

Wetting my lips with my tongue, I thought for a moment before responding. "If all the world and love were young," I recited, "And truth in every shepherd's tongue, These pretty pleasures might me move To live with thee and be thy love."

Though I'd gotten the lines correct, his reaction wasn't as it usually was. Instead of giving a bright smile and pulling me close to his chest, delighted that I'd been reading what he'd given me - that I'd been thinking about him while I was away - he pulled the window closed and then pulled the curtains shut over it, blocking out the sun and crossing the dark room back to his bed, where he sat, head in his hands.

Distressed, I followed, plopping down as delicately as I could and wrapping my arms around his cold shoulders.

--

My first encounter with a Banisher was one of the scariest things I've ever experienced, and it only lasted a few minutes.

He was spidery, spindly, slippery, and covered in blood. All I could see of his face were his eyes - wide, too bulgy - they looked like they had no iris, just little pinprick pupils jerking from one thing to the next.

Every few seconds his fingers would writhe and twitch, and he'd make a struggling, squeaking noise. His face was covered by a gas mask. Like he thought magic was contagious. An air-born contagion.

He showed up at the consilium one night as most of us were leaving. No one ever said where he came from, or why none of us had heard of him - or even seen him - before then. It wasn't long before he was 'contained' and the consilii seized him to keep for a bit.

After he'd been knocked out, sprawled out on the floor - spells had flown everywhere, shit was falling apart, people were bleeding from contained paradox - a few guardians tried to pry his mask off. It was sewed to the sides of his head and the underside of his chin with thick black twine.

--

It wasn't only in speaking company that Travesty was the object of most of my affection - he also had an affinity for the bed, which made him, for some time, my absolute favorite client.

Sprawled out among red satin sheets - the true picture of an almost romantic lust, something he embodied entirely - we would take hours exploring each other, from dusk until midnight, killing twilight in each other's lips. And god, did he have some lips.

Running them from my neck to my thigh, he would murmur more lines, each one punctuated by a gasp from myself.

"An hundred years should go to praise," he whispered, lips touching mine, just barely, "Thine eyes and on thy forehead gaze;" his mouth trailed downwards, tongue flicking over my collarbone, "Two hundred to adore each breast," with each line, he remained true to the words. "But thirty thousand to the rest; An age at least for every part, And the last age should show your heart." Rising up, supporting himself on his knees and one palm, the other hand nestled between my tits, fingers curled together over my chest.

My pulse throbbing against his, under him in the dark, I started to cry, tears sliding, hot, down the sides of my face into my ears.

"For, Lady, you deserve this state, Nor would I love at lower rate."

Then he leaned down, lips sealing my tears where they were, tongue flicking out to capture them. With a breathy little sniffle, I replied, true to everything he'd said up until then - "But at my back I always hear Time's winged chariot hurrying near." And I bit my lip to keep the quiet tears from turning into obnoxious, mood-ruining crying.

His voice in my ear, breath saturating my skin, he held me so hard it almost hurt. "Thus, though we cannot make our sun Stand still, yet we will make him run." My tears quelled, he leaned down into me, and I wrapped myself around him in return.

--

Eventually I came to the full realization that I was never meant to really experience love - not real, pure, happy fairy-tale white-wedding love, which is the only good kind to have. I inspired lust, craving, desire, which led to envy, hurt, and disaster. Love wasn't an emotion, it wasn't flighty - it was more a state of being, and what I got involved in never lasted that long.

I adored Legion, and I did everything I could for him, but that wasn't being in love. He was the reason for my existence for a long time, but it wasn't a true state of being, it wasn't meant to last forever.

Travesty was something different. I came so close, with him - but I wasn't meant to be in love, or ever loved, not really. It was for the best if I just never came close at all.

--

"It's our anniversery." The table was adorned with a white table cloth, a candle-holder with a few long maroon candles, two long-stemmed, narrow glasses of wine, and an equally slender dark bottle. "One year ago today was the first day we met. I think it's highly appropriate that we met in the winter, don't you think, Ember?"

I shifted in my seat, leaning forward to smile across the table at him. For the past twelve months I had been seeing Travesty at least once or twice a month, at Legion's discretion. He uncorked the wine and poured us each a glass, face featuring that small, gray smile.

"You know, you're the first person I've spent this much time with in a very long while." I didn't doubt it. One odd thing I'd noticed about the house was that nowhere in it was there evidence of another person ever having lived there - although Legion did mention that he had a wife, at some point - there were no pictures, no one else's belongings. Room after room was empty and unlived in, although well-kept.

Every room, dozens of them, empty except for a minimilistic decoration or furnishing. Aside from his own room, the kitchen, living room and the like, they were all abandoned, untouched. I slid my hand across the table to close it over his, and squeezed.


End file.
